


One Shot Collection Series I

by KylaBosch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaBosch/pseuds/KylaBosch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: A series of character studies based on scenes from the books and AU’s that go beyond the novels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Series I

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Note:** This is a collection of one shots written a while back to enable me to explore a variety of characters without the obligation or responsibility that comes with writing a full out tale.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All this belongs to GRRM up to and including some quotes that were used directly from the novels (because of the scene its written in).
> 
>  **Beta Readers:** As always a huge thank you to the lovely onborrowedwings for helping me make this work! Your help and wisdom is always greatly appreciated.

  


**The Hound**

  
  
  
‘You rode him down?’ The northern lord asked; his fingers still clutching the cloak of the lifeless boy who lay rumpled at his feet.  
  
‘He ran,’ Sandor replied as his eyes met the Hand’s horrified gaze. Amused by Lord Eddard’s shock, the absurd idea that a seasoned warrior could be so naive as to believe in the dead ideals of honour, the Hound laughed.  
  
‘But not very fast.’  
  
As he departed on his warhorse, Stranger, a memory came unbidden to his thoughts; an unexpected statement, from the most unexpected of persons.  
  
 _‘And you, dog, away with you, you’re scaring my betrothed.’_  
  
‘It was not him--it was the other one.’  
  
Some days, Sandor hated himself worse than others; tonight he hated himself most of all.  
  
He told himself that he did not understand why. He always was a poor liar.  
  


**Myrcella Baratheon**

  
  
  
Myrcella was a woman grown, a wife, a dornish queen, and a Martell by marriage. Jaime Lannister was a liar, an oath breaker, and an incestuous cretin whose shadow, not unlike her mother had nearly crushed everything, and everyone, she loved. Yet in her father’s presence she was every bit the pathetic little princess she had once been. Gone was the blissfully ignorant nine year old who believed in the goodness of men and silly notions of the truth setting you free. Only a guarded young queen remained; one who wanted nothing more than to shed her lion’s skin for something better suited to her person.  
  
‘Do you really hate us so much?’  
  
Standing proud before one of the many balconies that decorated Casterly Rock, Myrcella stared ahead into the pouring rain. Behind her at the entrance to her chambers, Jaime Lannister, her birth father, watched on. He sounded almost jovial as he questioned her hatred of their family; the disgust she bore at the idea of being a pure-blooded Lannister. She knew better, only a fool could ignore the weight behind his question.  
  
She remained silent in contemplation. Were it anyone else she would have simply laughed and lied. However much she believed that she hated him, Myrcella could still not lie to the man. She may have been born a lion, but she had been well schooled by an unwitting Hound, and dogs never lie.  
  
‘Yes,’ she answered.  
  
The sound of his heavy footsteps fading into the hallway said more than any words could.   
  


**Jaime Lannister**

  
  
  
Jaime never expected to see his daughter again. A painful, if not apt, punishment for the sins he had committed.  
  
Myrcella stood before him; an elegant, tall yellow-haired beauty, with bright eyes of green, and lips that never ceased to smile.  
  
Only she was not these things.  
  
A long scar, partly hidden behind her long hair marred her porcelain skin. Her eyes once shining with joy carried an undeniable weight. Her lips no longer wore the smile of innocence, but the mystery of all unspoken.  
  
Jaime could only imagine what she saw when she looked upon him; a cripple, a grotesque, an incestuous kingslayer, and a tired old man.  
  
‘Father?’  
  
A single word spoken in hope, and Jaime’s world threatened to come undone.  
  
‘Father! It does my heart good to see you again after so long!’  
  
To his surprise, it did his heart good too.  
  
Gone was the shadow of his deceased sister; in her place was the vibrant young girl he once called _daughter_ in dreams alone. She smiled at him, and even her scars could not mar her perfect beauty. For all daughters are flawless in a father’s eyes.  
  
Frozen in place he stood, as so many words caught in his throat. The water that collected in his eyes remained unshed as her arms wrapped tightly around him.  
  
His only daughter was alive and well; there was little else that mattered.  
  


**Sandor Clegane**

  
  
  
‘Mother says you are to be my training master, and mentor. You are to teach me all that a man should know.’ Joffrey said in a voice filled with an admiration and a sincerity that Sandor had never witnessed in him before. Clearly the young prince supported his mother’s claim, much to the Hound’s disgust, and panic. He was many things; a fool was not one of them.  
  
The proud, yet almost humble joy he saw in the ten year old's face when he spoke those words did little to ease the cold tendrils tightening around his throat. The last thing Sandor wanted was to become a surrogate _father_ , literally or otherwise. Gods only knew what the boy saw in him, or his whore of a mother for that matter that deemed him _worthy_ of being any child’s guardian.  
  
Clearly, the gods hated him even more than he once believed.  
  


**Jon Snow**

  
  
‘It should have been you,’  
  
Jon was about to make his departure from Bran’s bedchambers when the soft yet cold voice of Lady Catelyn was heard. Five words and something within him broke. For a moment he stood frozen in place as the room blurred from the unshed tears that burned in his eyes.  
  
‘Why do you hate me so much?’ the question spilled from his lips before he had a chance to stop himself. The boy braced himself for the storm that was to come.  
  
‘You dare ask such a thing!’ Catelyn balked.  
  
 _I dare to ask such a thing?_  
  
The flush of rage and pain spurred him onwards. ‘What have I done to have earned your hatred, Lady Stark? Was it my decision, my choice to be born a bastard? I can no more change who my mother was, any more than you could change her relationship, whatever it may have been, with Lord Stark,’ he quietly said. Lady Catelyn was too stunned to speak. Even Jon was uncertain where his courage or his blatant disrespect came from.  
  
‘I’m not asking for your love, nor could I ever hope to earn your respect. I am no more at fault for what happened than you are. All I’ve wanted-needed- was for you to understand that.  
  
‘Please, leave us!’ There was no ice in her voice; only desperation and sorrow.  
  
‘No, I will not,’ he stiffly replied. Catelyn’s eyes grew hard, then distant as she stared right through him. To his amazement she spoke not another word.  
  
‘None of this was ever my fault, nor was it ever yours-’ he faltered, suddenly uncertain what it was that he wanted, or had hoped to accomplish. The truth came unbidden and it hurt more than he could have imagined.  
  
‘She may have birthed me, but you are the only mother that I have ever known. I just don’t want my last memories of you to be shrouded in bitterness or hatred.’ As soon as the words tumbled from his lips Jon left, fearing her reply. He imagined the admittance was as much a shock for her as it had been for him.  
  
Having said his farewells to Robb and Arya, Rickon and Bran the night before, Jon had planned to leave without another word exchanged the following morning. The person he had not anticipated to see again was none other than Lady Stark.  
  
‘Jon,’ she began, causing him to stop in midst of saddling his horse. It was the second time she had called him by his name. This time he was ready for the insult; it never came.  
  
‘May the gods go with you.’  
  
Startled, Jon paused in mid-action uncertain how to respond. He wanted, needed even, to know if her words were a fierce jape, or if the apology he heard in her voice had been real. However when he turned to face her, the boy found himself alone; she was already long gone. He never saw her again.


	2. One Shot Series Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Note:** This is a collection of one shots written a while back to enable me to explore a variety of characters without the obligation or responsibility that comes with writing a full out tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** All this belongs to GRRM up to and including some quotes that were used directly from the novels (because of the scene its written in).
> 
>  **Beta Readers:** As always a huge thank you to the lovely Onborrowedwings for helping me make this work! Your help and wisdom is always greatly appreciated.

The Stranger and Maiden

It was Stranger’s trumpeting, and the loud crack of his hoofs slamming against his stall door that brought Sandor rushing to the stables of the Red Keep. He wondered what the stable boy had done to piss off the courser. He had already warned the little bugger to steer clear of his horse. If the boy wanted to lose an ear or a hand, who was he to stop him?

Upon entering, Sandor found not the young stable hand, but rather prince Joffrey’s terrified betrothed, Sansa, pinned against the back wall of the stables while an overly eager Stranger eagerly snapped at the basket she held in her trembling hands. Sansa, ever a little lady, was attempting to dissuade his steed from eating the empty basket. 

‘I swear by the old gods and the new, I truly have no more,’ she stammered, her blue eyes glistening with tears. ‘See? No more apples!’ she peeped, turning the basket upside down as if Stranger cared.

‘Oh gods be good! Please don’t hurt me!’ she whimpered, as tears spilled down her porcelain cheeks. The courser snorted, before forcefully butting at her hand, clearly unconvinced by her pretty words.

Amused by the sight, Sandor burst into laughter. ‘Joff’s little bird looking to make new friends?’ he mocked. Sansa gave a gasp of surprise as she looked up at him. Stranger stomped his hooves, forcing the young woman’s attentions back to him.

‘Please Ser, I don’t know what has come over him,’ she stammered, attempting to shrink away from Stranger who had her pinned against the stable wall.

‘Stranger, that’s enough,’ he gently warned, approaching the great war horse. The black courser gave a snort, as he stomped a hoof before withdrawing. Guiding the warhorse back to his stall, Sandor began to groom him as was his custom. The petite beauty was momentarily forgotten until she broke the peaceful silence. 

‘My pardons, Ser,’ she began in meek tones. 

‘I am no Ser! Do I have to beat that into you, girl?’ he rasped. Sansa shrank back, but refused to leave. Feeling Sansa’s eyes on him, Sandor felt a rush of anger. The little bird always had enough courage to stare when he was not watching. The instant he faced her, Sansa would immediately look away. She always flinched at the sight of his face, most everyone did. 

‘Braver than you look,’ he rasped. ‘Only a bloody fool toys with my horse.’

‘I wasn’t toying with anyone, My Lord,’ she softly pleaded. Sandor glanced back to her, and for the briefest moment their eyes met. Beautiful eyes of blue held him captive, before she shyly looked away. After all she had endured, all he tried to protect her from, at the risk of his own life no less, the little bird still could not bear the sight of him. 

‘You’re a stupid little bird if you think he is some sweet courser for true,’ Sandor snapped, grabbing her arm to prevent her from getting too near to the restless horse. Sansa swallowed hard. Her grip around the basket she held was so tight her knuckles had turned white. 

‘It wouldn’t have been fair to ignore him, and give apples to the other horses, My Lord,’ she politely defended, her eyes flickering between his face and her hands. ‘I fed some of the other horses, but when I tried to give him an apple he-’ she faltered as her eyes flickered to Stranger who was sniffing eagerly in the direction of her basket.

‘Nothing in life is fair, girl. Don’t ever believe different,’ he warned. Of all people to speak of fairness, it had to be her. Even now, she clung onto her dead ideals as tightly as she held onto her silent gods. 

‘No it is not,’ she agreed. ‘But even the unlovable sometimes need love too,’ Sansa added in soft tones. This time there was no fear, no revulsion or disgust, when she looked him straight in the face. Holding her gaze, Sandor found himself at a loss for words. 

Releasing his grip around her arm he watched in disbelief as Sansa quietly departed the stables without ever looking back. It would be another ten years before he would understand, much less experience, the truth of her words.

Kiss of the Stranger

‘Let us see your courage,’ the kindly man said as he lowered his cowl. Where there should have been a human face was only bone and decay. His skull was a dull white, and where there should have been eyes were two black holes, in place of skin, pieces scraps of grey flesh clung to its cheek. Sansa could see movement in the hollow of one of the empty eye sockets. To her horror, a worm poked its head out, forcing her to bite back a scream. Instinctively she took a step back, her hand fluttering to her mouth. The man wore the face of the Stranger.

‘Kiss me, child,’ The Stranger croaked, his voice dry as dead leaves and hollow as winter winds blowing through naked trees. 

Struggling not to panic, Sansa looked back to the door where moments ago, Arya had departed and she had entered. Recalling the lessons of her Septa, she fought back the urge to run in fear. 

_‘Kiss him already!’_ her little sister would have exclaimed had she been witness to Sansa’s hesitation. Arya was not afraid, if anything she was more eager to put it behind her and get on with the training. Naturally, she passed the test, her little sister always was brave beyond her years. _She’s a true wolf,_ Sansa despaired, _I am but a little bird._

Staring at the skeletal face that had once been a kindly hooded man, Sansa swallowed hard; uncertain she had the courage to do what was necessary. 

_Give him what he wants, little bird._

Somewhere in the shadows, she could almost hear the familiar rasp of the Hound encouraging her, bidding her to be strong. Sandor was not there, if her sister was to be believed, he had been left for dead in the Saltpans. Sansa knew better, it would take more than a mere infection to kill her Hound. If she could escape the Lannisters, and even Littlefinger’s clutches, surely he too could escape death. 

Drawing courage from the memory of her last true friend, Sansa silently approached the Stranger with all the grace of a true Northern Queen. Rising to the balls of her feet, she closed her eyes, her lips whispering the name of the scarred warrior whom she had grown to love. With a smile on her lips she closed her eyes and kissed the Stranger full on the mouth. For in her heart, it was not the cold mouth of death that she gently kissed, but the marred lips of a man whose face had been touched by fire. Immediately, the dead god drew back, laughing as he did so.

‘In all my years, I have never encountered the likes of either of you!’ he exclaimed, as Arya entered the room. Sansa braved a smile upon seeing her sister’s return. Turning her attentions back to the god of death, she noted much to her surprise and relief that in place of the Stranger, now stood the kindly elder man again. 

‘No one has ever tried to eat my worm before,’ he said to Arya with a smile. ‘Are you hungry, child?’ Arya gave him a wry grin that revealed she was hungry not for food, but for knowledge. Looking back to Sansa his expression softened. ‘And you dear lady, why are you begging for the Stranger’s kiss? What am I to do with the likes of you?’ he gently asked.

Sansa’s cheeks burned for she knew not how to answer him. She could feel Arya’s eyes boring into her as her little sister balked at her in disbelief. She was certain her secret was no more. She could not say what shamed her further, the fact Arya may know where her affections lay, or the idea a complete stranger was aware of the dark secret she carried.

Sansa’s fears were immediately forgotten, as both girls were led further into the dark caverns of the faceless god’s temple. Life was never the same again.


End file.
